Young Writers Society

A short letter to home

Mother, recently, this has been too much. You say to me that you understand, that in your prayers you are here beside me. You know nothing of life here.

What can you begin to understand of these days and these nights, bedding down in blood blackened filth with rats and lice and the stench of a thousand other terrified men with clueless mothers waiting for them not to return? When the odour is pungent, choking, of death on the smoke and gas on the wind, fears left behind when the shell finds its target. The sky above us is black, thick, endless, shrieking with the pain of artillery to drive in our madness. The rain is unceasing. The mud is shin deep. There are white parasites in the creases of my uniform and fifteen men from our company have just been blown from the face of the earth before my eyes.

Who are any of you to say that you are with me in your prayers when there is no God on earth who would set foot on this battleground, this abattoir? What do you pray in the first place? That the shells will fall to the north and the south, obliterating other sons and leaving me behind. That the rain will let up for long enough to let us snatch some sleep on our wooden planks? That our feet will dry? That the cold and the high fever of the man who shares our dugout wasn’t from the water we still have to live on? That this slop they call rations will satisfy? The bodies of French strangers are built into the walls, mother! And this is valour, this is gallantry. Enduring this hell for the many at home. Withstanding this torture for their right to keep squandering their lives, committing their crimes and griping about the state of the world in which they are trapped. This is strength the like of which you could never imagine.

He sighed as the trench collapsed a little behind him; cloudy, filthy rainwater running around his shoulders like a full emersion. He turned his eyes skywards, the rain rushing down in a stream from heaven still pure and uncorrupted. It washed the mud from the pale, young skin around his eyes. It pockmarked the hateful letter. Accordingly, he tore it to pieces.

Cool! You have written this so very well! I enjoyed it. Especially the twist at the ending when he tore the letter apart. Why did he do that?
I wouldn't mind reading more about the man, in the horrors of war time, and on the battle field. I can't help but ask (I am not good with history) where is he? What war is he in? Who does he fight for? Why does he fight for them?
I felt the emotions in the letter. The way he hated his mother's ignorance. How she thought being at war wasn't hard. How the soldier felt about her 'keeping' him in her prayers. The way you explained the things he had to deal with daily, truly shows that war is hell.
I personally think you should write more like this. Perhaps you can have a soldier write a diary? I would defently read it, and review it ^_^

I didn't find any spelling or grammar ploblems.


BRAVO!!!!!!!!!

wow, this was a really nice peice. i mean, it was crazy intense and all, but in a good way. even though i have read thousands or poems, books, and stories that describe warfare and such, it still kills me every time i read something new, from a new perspective or something. and this peice just seemed particularly personal to me, more so than a lot of other peices i've read.

i have to say, though, i was very relieved when the boy tore the letter apart at the end, i kind of was thinking it would be really mean of him to send a letter like that to his mother, no matter what kind of stuff he's going through. so yea, i liked that you ended it that way.

okay so overall, very good peice, and im not going to bother pointing out grammatical mistakes (not that i saw any), or really critique it in any way. cause i just like it alot, so i don't feel like saying any thing negative about it.

great job, and i hope to read more from you!

This is very well written!
I love description, personally, and you definitely nailed that.
The perspective was at an excellent angle, and it was overall an excellent piece.

Like the others said, there is no point in correcting grammar.
And I can't wait to read more pieces from you!
=D

The story is very historically accurate and I congratulate you on that. It was slightly wishy washy. I mean a soldier wouldn't get so excited about writing he is exhausted mentally and physically.

You are great at describing a scene to the readers and making them want to keep reading. And I definitely appreciate him not sending that to his mother and just getting his frustrations on paper.

thank you for all comments. I wrote this in a free period for a contest and I didn't actually think it was up to much. Glad that it seems historically accurate - it's a few years now since I was in a history class. Unfortunately word limit was 500 but I enjoyed this as much as can be expected when writing about carnage so maybe some more to come in future.

For anyone still a little confused - this was WW1 inspired.

WW1, that makes sense. I learned about that last year in 9th grade. A very troublesome war. I hardly knew anything about it before that class last year. I do hope you write more! Please PM me if you do ^_^

I like this letter, I thought it was well written. I especially liked the end when he tears apart the letter, it makes sense, why would you have sent that letter home anyway, it would have just worried everyone.

This is a very good piece of writing, I want to know more about the man, why he felt the need to write such a bitter letter. Will you let us know how it gets on in the competition?

I also think that you could progress this, not for the competition, but for your own writing, develop the character, make it into something longer, I think it would work very well!

All the best,
Meevs

hey everybody!
I have some really good news. This story won the competition! I'm so happy

So thank you again for reading and encouraging me. And I guess this just goes to show that sometimes the best stories are written in free periods whilst stringently avoiding homework.